


Captain America: Unbroken

by quinndk



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinndk/pseuds/quinndk
Summary: After the events of Civil War, a bearded Steve Rogers goes into hiding in a cabin by a lake – and ends up befriending his neighbor Elias, a young artist struggling with PTSD. As their friendship grows, so too does an intense, forbidden attraction. Steve’s desire to keep a low profile clashes with his new feelings, but he soon discovers Elias is hiding deadly secrets of his own… [M/M Slash]





	1. Retreat

Steve Rogers folded his arms against his broad chest as he took in the sunset. Hues of gold and rose reflected off the surface of the lake, calm and uniform as the surface of a mirror. He could get used to a view like this.

Even before he heard the creaking wood of the lakeside dock, he knew someone was approaching him from behind.

"Gotta say, as far as hideaways go? You've done worse."

Steve allowed himself a small, humorless grin. "Remember that abandoned fishery in Oslo?"

Natasha Romanoff winced as she joined his side. "God, I'd rather not."

"Appreciate you meeting me here."

Their eyes met and each were surprised to observe a new version of the other.

"You cut your hair."

"You haven't been cutting yours," Natasha jabbed back, "They don't have barbers out here in Ontario?"

" _Northern_  Ontario," Steve gently corrected, "Trust me when I say there's a difference. Also, I like the new color."

"Thanks. The box said  _ash blonde_. Felt appropriate." Natasha breathed in the cool lake air. Overhead, a formation of Canadian geese sailed through the air. "Did I mention how beautiful it is out here?"

"You ought to think about joining me," Steve said. "There's a cottage across the lake. Don't know if anyone's using it."

"We can't risk it, Steve. It's safer for everyone to be spread out. You know that."

"I do. Just wanted to say it."

Natasha smiled and flicked a finger at his face. "I'm surprised you can say anything with that forest growing on your face."

"Hey, I'm in the wilderness now. No need to shave out here. No one to impress."

She let her smile fade. "I suppose that's for the best."

A sadness clung behind their words, like a stain neither wanted to acknowledge. Natasha took Steve's hand and pressed it into hers.

"It's good to see you again."

Steve squeezed back, careful to keep his enhanced strength in check. "You too, Nat."

"I'll tell Wanda you're doing well. She misses you."

"Tell her I miss her, too."

"I'll send you my coordinates once I settle down. Still using the same number?"

"Yeah, but the reception out here comes and goes. Can't get an LTE signal to save my life." He paused, surprised at his own words. "Did I just say that?"

"Look at you, talking all fancy like a twenty-first century man."

"The lingo and the technology might change, Nat, but I don't think I ever will."

Natasha let go of his hand and headed to the one-seat private plane idling by the dock. "What's that they say about teaching an old dog?"

"Very funny."

Steve watched Natasha take off into the golden sky. He stood on the dock long after the plane disappeared from sight, simply observing as the horizon darkened and the night pinpricked with stars.

* * *

"Sir? I think we're here."

The young man in the back seat reluctantly opened his eyes. He was still drowsy with sleep and the six hour ride up from Toronto (with a brief stop in North Bay) had numbed him into submission.

"You don't need to call me sir," the young man said to the driver.

"Oh, of course, uh..."

"Elias."

Trepidation crept through his veins as he watched the family cottage appear at the end of the heavily forested road. A three story building. Nicely maintained, despite no off-season caretaker. It had 'good bones', as his parents would say.

A lump in his throat. He forced it back down.

The cab driver pulled into the circular driveway. "Here we are."

Elias tipped him appreciatively and refused any help with his luggage. He was a healthy 25 years old, not exactly enfeebled.

Leaving his bags on the front porch, Elias took the long way around the house toward the backyard. Well, it wasn't  _quite_  a yard. That implied a fence. The cottage simply opened up into a short patch of land before it met with the small lake where Elias spent all his childhood summers.

God, it was weird being back. Especially after all this time. He was all grown up -  _Well, sort of_  - and felt very distant from the eager and adventurous boy who kayaked and caught crappies on hot July afternoons.

The wind pushed him gently toward the shore. Dead leaves crunched beneath his Converse shoes. He knelt by the water and drew his hand listlessly across, watching his chipped black nailpolish disappear beneath the surface.

When the water settled, his reflection stared up at him. Elias frowned. His eyes, almond-shaped and the color of smoke, blinked back at him. His dark hair, which got wavier the more he grew it out, could have used a cut. As a boy he'd been described as 'delicate', and though his twenties added cheekbones and an adult structure to his face, it still looked true.

Elias dashed his hand against the surface again. When he looked up, he saw something he wasn't expecting.

There was a man across the lake.

Elias stood. His limbs went rigid. Who the hell...? His closest neighbor was five miles away and there weren't any other structures along the shore. Except that old sunshed by the dock... which was technically part of his family's property. But they never used it and no one had ever  _lived_  there. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to.

It was hard to tell from so far away, but this stranger looked tall, draped in a dark hoodie and sweats. A cap and sunglasses covered his features. He was reading something - a novel, maybe? - while drinking from a thermos.

Elias almost smiled. Some Jack Kerouac wannabe, probably fresh from grad school and now squatting in the woods in an effort to find himself. Elias knew the type well. He dated a few in college. They were generally harmless, albeit self-aggrandizing.

"Looks like I've got some company," he said, drying his hands against the sides of his jeans. The wind howled mournfully, filling the silence that swallowed the distance between him and the stranger.

As Elias stood and headed to the cottage to unpack, he could have sworn he saw the Jack Kerouac wannabe look up from his novel. By the time he reached the back porch and turned again to the lake, the man was gone.

* * *

Steve shoved his clothes into his knapsack and zipped it shut. He packed light and tight for situations exactly like this, where he needed a speedy exit.

Damn. He'd spent a year on the run and he was already getting sloppy. He could have sworn the lake was uninhabited. He checked out that fancy looking cottage himself just the other day before Natasha arrived. It didn't look like anyone had been there in a while. But he definitely just saw another person, clear as crystal, staring back at him from the cottage's yard. A spy? Someone on Secretary Ross' payroll?

Nah. If it was a fed, this little shack he'd been staying in would have been razed to the ground already. But Steve knew he couldn't afford to have gawkers milling around him, not in this day and age. Not when everyone on the planet knew his name and face.

He strapped on the knapsack and shoved a Toronto Maple Leafs cap over his head. The shack was a simple, one-room structure with a plain table and a cot that was too small for him. Once he was gone there would be no trace of him left. Just the way he liked it.

Steve had his hand on the handle of the shack's only door when someone on the other side gave it a knock.

He froze.

"Hello?" a voice called. Male. A civilian, or at least someone trained to sound like one.

Steve's mind raced. He could punch through the flimsy door, stunning but not injuring his guest. He'd be able to make a clean run for it, provided there wasn't anyone else waiting to ambush him. He could try for the window on the shack's southern wall. It'd be a squeeze, but he could probably-

"Anyone there?" The voice again. "I'm, uh- your neighbor, I guess. I'm staying in the cottage across the water. Just came by to say-"

Third option, Steve decided. He flung the door open. Ready for anything.

The source of the voice took a surprised step back. "Jesus!"

Steve scanned him quickly. Male, like he thought. Mid twenties, maybe younger. Average height and slender as a rake. A head of dark hair that fell over intelligent grey eyes. He dressed his age - casually - with slim jeans and a red farmer's shirt over a black t-shirt. The young man's features suggested a heritage Steve wasn't completely familiar with - something in the shape of his eyes, or the fullness of his lips.

Despite his trepidation, Steve found it difficult to look away from him. He was, well... beautiful. His face held mystery. Like a painting of some long forgotten prince.

Troubled by the extended silence, the young man frowned. "Uh, hi?"

Steve cleared his throat and forced his eyes to the ground. With his hockey cap, aviator sunglasses, and newly grown beard, there was a chance he could skirt through this unrecognized. "Hey."

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Steve shook his head.

"I'm Elias. Here." He extended a foil-wrapped tray.

Steve's turn to frown. He kept his voice low. "What is this?"

"A little welcome-to-the-lake gift, I guess? They're cookies. I bought them in town on my way over but I wrapped them up to make them look homemade. I'm a pretty good baker but I didn't have time to-" The young man - this  _Elias_  person - quickly went red. "I probably should have stopped at 'They're cookies'. Because who cares."

"Thank you but I'm not hungry."

Elias' eyes roamed over Steve, noticing his knapsack. "Are you... on your way out?"

Steve closed the shack door behind him and stepped fully outside. It wasn't until that moment when he realized the tremendous physical difference between them. He towered over the kid, who couldn't have been heavier than a sack of groceries.

Elias seemed to notice the difference, too, for he stepped back as Steve stepped forward. If he was intimidated, fine. There wasn't time for manners.

"I was only resting for the day. Never intended on staying."

"Oh, I wasn't- it wouldn't have bothered me. But it's not the comfiest place to stay in, my parents used it for storage."

"I apologize for encroaching on your property."

"It's really not a big-"

"Excuse me."

Steve started to walk away. He would take the path by the dock that led up through the forest and onto the main road. At least, that  _would_  be the plan, if this Elias person hadn't fallen in step behind him.

"Are you sure you don't want a cookie for the road?"

"I'm on a diet."

"Honestly, dude, I don't think a cheat day would hurt you."

A crackle of thunder interrupted before Steve could reply. Grey clouds began blanketing the otherwise pristine sky.

"Shit," Elias squinted above them. "I forgot a storm was rolling in."

* * *

Elias didn't consider himself the type to care about first impressions but he couldn't help but feel that he just made a less than stellar one.

When the sunshed's door flew open and he came face-to-face (well, face-to-chest, considering their height difference) with what looked like a scowling lumberjack, all he could do was stammer and stare like an idiot. Whoever this stranger was wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. But why? What had he intruded on?

Another thunderous boom announced the storm was getting closer. The stranger stared at the sky as if cursing his bad luck. Or perhaps welcoming it. It was hard to tell what he was feeling behind those huge, reflective sunglasses.

"Look," Elias started, "I really don't have a problem with you staying in the shed. And honestly, it looks like a better option than trying to thumb a ride in the middle of a hurricane."

A droplet of rain struck Elias in the center of his forehead. He wiped it away as another replaced it.

"I can handle a little rain," the stranger said.

Elias didn't doubt that. He didn't doubt there was anything this man couldn't handle. He was big, with wide shoulders, an impressively broad chest, and biceps that couldn't be wrapped around with both hands.

Not that he was thinking of touching this man's arms.

 _Ahem. Maybe_.

He felt his face grow warm and red for the second time that day.

The stranger tried to say something else but the roar of wind and thunder overpowered him. The force of it blew the hockey cap off his head to reveal, much to Elias' surprise, a full head of dark blonde hair.

"I'm heading inside," Elias had to shout now, "Maybe you should do the same."

"Kid," he shouted back, "What I do isn't your concern. It's better that I get out of your way."

He shook his head, eyebrows crinkling. "I don't understand."

"You'll be safer not knowing anything. Trust me on this."

A bright, jagged stream of lightning scissored through the hot air and cracked the thick trunk of an oak tree standing mere feet away. With a splintering noise even louder than the thunder, the trunk split sideways and plummeted to the ground with tremendous force.

Seconds away from striking Elias.

Panicking, his feet refused to work. He stumbled backward, tripping, landing hard on his spine when he should have been getting out of the way. The back of his head hit an upturned root as he fell. It hurt but the fear and adrenaline drowned out the pain.

The stranger ran and - in a move so unbelievable Elias was sure he was hallucinating - took the titanic impact of the falling trunk against his back. It should have killed him. But instead, the stranger was lifting it above his head with his bare hands. Like it was a broom handle and not a  _goddamn fucking oak tree_.

The weather's fury stripped the stranger's face of his aviator sunglasses. Through the maelstrom, the man's identity finally became clear.

"Captain America...?"

Elias stood. The wind and rain whipped the superhero's blonde hair wildly across his unshaven face. He shrugged off the trunk, letting it fall onto the soil. He breathed hard and furrowed his brow, focusing his intense, crystal blue eyes on Elias.

"You're bleeding."

"What?" Elias felt along his face, then his neck, and came away with blood on his fingers. Must have been from his head hitting the root.

"You took a hard fall. Stay still."

Captain America crossed the distance between them with three long strides and gently felt the back of the younger man's head. Elias' skin prickled from the contact. It'd been a while since any man touched him.

"You might have a concussion."

"You're... Captain America."

"What did you say your name was? Elias? We need to stop this bleeding. Do you have supplies at your cottage?"

"You fought in World War II."

Even with the rain drizzling down his face, Captain America's concern was clear.

"You might be in shock."

"No," Elias shook his head and never took his wide eyes off the man. "I'm fine. I'm..."

It was the last thing he said before he lost consciousness.


	2. The Violet Hour

Elias woke with a start.

His head throbbed. The back of his skull was bandaged, but he didn't remember bandaging it. He didn't recognize his surroundings, either. It was spacious and rustic with a roaring fireplace, so he definitely wasn't in his crummy Toronto apartment.

Wait.

_Fireplace?_

Oh, right. The cottage. The living room. But how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was taking a hit to the head. And who got the fireplace going?

As he removed the fleece blanket around him and stood from the couch, Elias realized two things:

1\. He was naked.  
2\. There was another man in the room with him.

With a cry of shock, Elias yanked the fleece across his body.

"Good morning," Steve Rogers said.

Elias' heart hammered in his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"You took a spill out there in the storm. Carried you back here myself."

"How long have...?"

"All night." Steve rose the from ottoman across the room. "Symptoms of a concussion can take up to a day to show up. Rest is important."

"You were watching over me?"

"I was doing what any man would have done."

Warmth flushed Elias' body. "Is there a reason why I'm naked?"

"Your clothes were soaking wet from the rain. I didn't want you getting hypothermia on top of everything, so I, uh..." Steve looked like someone had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. He loudly cleared his throat. "I pulled some dry clothes out of your luggage."

He nodded toward the glass coffee table. As Elias rose from the couch again, Steve directed his attention to the window behind him.

"Thanks." Elias pulled on a sweatshirt, jeans, and wool socks. "I'm decent now."

Steve's gaze returned to him. "How do you feel?"

"Like a tree fell on me, strangely enough. But you should be the one saying that."

He joined Steve at the window. Despite being morning the storm still raged, casting a miserable shadow over the lake. Elias ignored it, focusing instead on Steve's face. He didn't look anything like the stalwart, good-ol-boy Captain America from the news. There was a certain amount of danger to his presence. What had formerly been the personification of American triumph was now a distant, haunted man.

"I don't think I have to tell you why you can't let anyone know I was here."

"Hey, I'm on your side Cap. I thought the Accords were bullshit. And it'd be pretty bad karma to rat out someone who saved my life."

"It's Steve."

"Sorry?"

"You called me Cap. I don't answer to that anymore."

"Right. Steve."

The former hero scanned Elias' face, searching for something. The scrutiny was intense, almost unbearable. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how banged up he looked. Steve probably saw him as some poor, injured animal. Guh.

"I'm gonna make some coffee," Elias said when he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"I'll make it."

"No, it's okay."

"You need to rest. Just show me where everything is."

"Please. It's the least I can do for someone who took a tree trunk for me."

Steve eyed him wearily. "I'll watch, then. Just in case."

"Just in case I... lose my mind and drown myself in the coffee pot?"

"Never hurts to be prepared."

In the kitchen, Elias dug out the coffee maker and got to work. Lucky he made that stop in town for groceries - the storm would have trapped him inside with no food or supplies otherwise.

Steve watched quietly, massive arms folded across his equally massive chest. The kitchen was fairly roomy but Steve's presence seemed to take up most of it. Elias tried to ignore him - unsuccessfully - as he measured out the grounds and filled the pot with water.

"Is there something I can do?" Steve scanned the kitchen. "Doesn't feel right to just stand here."

"How good are you at making toast?"

"I've peeled hundreds of bags of potatoes in the army. I can handle bread."

Elias nodded toward the toaster. "I trust you not to burn yourself. How do you take your coffee?"

Steve went to work. "Black. Thank you."

Elias poured two mugs. He left one alone and doused the other with cream and a generous spoonful of sugar.

"Not a black coffee drinker yourself, I take it."

"Life's too short not to load up on sugar and cream. You can put that on my grave."

Elias thought he saw the start of a grin on Steve's chiseled, bearded face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Toast is in progress. Mind if I use your restroom?"

"It's just down the hall past the living room."

"Will you be-"

"Unless you set the toaster oven to explode, I'll be fine. I promise."

Steve nodded before he left. Elias put all his effort into stirring his coffee. Otherwise, he would have had to acknowledge the goosebumps teasing the back of his arms.

He couldn't believe he was making breakfast with a former Avenger.

* * *

Steve was on his way back from the bathroom when something in the hallway caught his eye. It was rude to snoop, especially for someone who wasn't technically an invited guest, but Steve's curiosity got the better of him.

He picked up a framed photo off a small table and examined it closely. A candid family picture. A young boy at the center, dark haired with mischievous green eyes. Elias, unmistakably. Probably around 9 or 10 years old. His parents beamed at the camera by his side. His mother was Asian, outdoorsy and athletic, with strong cheekbones and a generous smile. His father was blond and tall, Nordic looking, a little more reserved. The man's intelligent, worldly expression reminded him of Elias, but the kid clearly took after his mother more.

A family. A very happy one. Elias hadn't mentioned one and Steve hadn't seen any evidence of one until now. Not that it was his business.

"Hey, the toast is ready," Elias appeared. His eyes dropped to the photo.

"I'm sorry," Steve said immediately. "I was only passing by. I shouldn't have been looking."

Elias took the photo. His eyes drifted silently across the old image. "It's okay," he said eventually.

"Your parents?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask where they are?"

"They died 10 years ago. Car crash."

Steve lowered his gaze. "I'm so sorry."

Elias folded out the frame's kickstand and placed it back on the table. He fidgeted with its position. When he spoke, his voice was somber and far away. "They left me this cottage in their will. It's my first time back here since they died."

Steve didn't know what to say. This Elias was remarkably different compared to the quick-witted, good-natured young man who'd been making him coffee and teasing him about toast (all in spite of a possible concussion, no less). Steve didn't like seeing anyone upset - especially someone as kind and generous as Elias had been to him.

After a moment of consideration, Steve placed a hand on his shoulder.

"If it helps, son, I know exactly what it's like to wake up and realize your family isn't there with you."

To his relief, Elias didn't shrink away from his touch. Quite the opposite, he seemed greatly appreciative. "Did you get a chance to say goodbye?"

"No."

"Do you ever think about what you'd say if you could see them again?"

"All the time."

Elias' hand closed over his. It was like he had passed some test, or successfully crossed some imaginary bridge. There was empathy in his touch. The soft warmth of his palm on Steve's knuckles said as much.

Steve allowed him to take his time. A part of him wanted to maintain that contact, to show Elias that his feelings were safe with him, but he was respectful of boundaries and didn't want to trespass any more than he already had.

Still... the fact that they managed to find some form of common ground had started to put Steve at ease. If only a little.

* * *

It was funny. Strange, but funny. That was the first time Elias could admit to someone that his parents died without immediately bursting into tears. Maybe it was simply that, years-wise, there was more distance between him and that catastrophic day. Maybe it was that Steve, despite being the most wanted man in the world, was a stranger to him. Or maybe it was that Steve had kind eyes and a strong, assuring voice.

More likely, it was a combination of all those things.

They took their breakfast to the sunroom and ate in silence. Rain and wind lashed at the windows. It was closer to noon now, not that there was any indication of that outside.

"You look pretty deep in thought."

Steve turned to him, caught. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Care to share?"

"It's nothing. I was... I don't want to sound like I'm taking away from your experience."

"No judgment here. Scout's honor."

"When we talked in the hallway," Steve began, pained but trying hard not to sound it, "I couldn't help but think about how I haven't been part of a family in a long time."

"You had the Avengers."

"That was Tony's family. I might have been the face of it for a while, but it was never mine."

"I know my opinion means fuck all, but it seemed like Iron Man was trying really desperately to keep the Avengers together. But he didn't understand that wasn't in everyone else's best interests."

"Iron M- Tony's not a bad guy. But he and I are so different he might as well have grown up in another galaxy. I mean, he'd throw these parties in his penthouse every few weeks. And they were huge. I never knew what to talk about or what I was supposed to do at things like that. Didn't help that I'd always feel this... invisible current. Tony and his ilk on one side, me and mine on the other. I grew up in the Lower East Side. His whole way of living, his level of access, it's just completely foreign to me. I'm not saying he never made me feel welcome. But I can't change where I come from and neither can he. Eventually that got the both of us in trouble."

Elias listened sympathetically. Steve had been so reserved when they first met. This marked a welcome change, the way he could speak so openly about what had led to the Avengers' rift. Maybe it was that Elias was so far removed from that life, that Steve felt comfortable enough to share. Maybe it was knowing that their paths would likely never cross again...

Even with a beard, it was obvious Steve's face was flushed."I, uh... it's been a while since I've talked to someone who doesn't have a code name and a costume. Didn't mean to chat your ear off."

"Hey, talking to a stranger can be very healing." Elias offered a gentle grin as he traced the rim of his empty coffee mug. "That's why I change therapists so often. They get a little too familiar with me."

Steve cocked his head. "That was... a joke?"

Elias laughed. Whether it was at Steve's confusion or his own stab at dark humor, he couldn't say. "Yeah. That was me making a funny. Don't worry, you'll learn to recognize the signs. Everything gets really quiet, animals run the other away..."

Steve chuckled. Quick and quiet, but still, it marked progress. The so-called Super Soldier was letting his guard down. "After the hit you took last night, buddy, it's good to hear you laugh."

Laughing didn't always come easy to Elias. Grief was a strange beast, it was agony and ecstasy, droughts and floods, sunshine and darkness, and they all burst forth in patterns he could never predict. It shamed him deeply, the way grief constricted his life, and he had spent the previous ten years denying himself the company of others. But sharing the better part of his day with another person ( _another man_ , he archly noted) hadn't resulted in the apocalypse.

"It's good to have someone to laugh with," he replied.

* * *

Steve carefully removed the bandaging from Elias' head and helped him place an ice pack against the bump. He brushed the younger man's hair aside as he did, smelling shampoo that made his nostrils tingle. The scent was so pleasant and immediate he could practically see Elias in the shower, massaging shampoo onto his scalp, his eyes closed and expression relaxed, soap and water trailing down his body...

"How does it look?"

The question snapped him out of his thoughts. He was rather thankful Elias wasn't a telepath. "Swelling's gone down but there's still a ways to go. Do you have any ibuprofen?"

"Yeah, just in the cupboard behind you."

The close quarters of the bathroom was a little awkward. Steve was a big guy and he felt mammoth in the enclosed space, especially standing so close behind another person. He jostled around for the ibuprofen bottle and shook out two pills.

"Here. Two of these with water. Lidocaine would be better but it's not exactly a medicine cabinet standard. You should eat something, too."

"Thanks, doctor."

A soft grin. "When you're around as many injuries as I've been over the years, you pick up a few things."

Elias turned from the mirror. His face met Steve's chest, so he had to crane his chin to meet him at eye level. Steve hadn't been this physically close to another person in a long time. His breath came a little quicker as he considered things he hadn't before, such as his dewy skin or the full, healthy bow of Elias' lips.

 _Come on, Rogers_ , Steve's mind interrupted.  _What's wrong with you? Gawking at this kid like you're starving and he's a steak dinner_.  _Have a little more respect for him. And yourself_.

His eyes darted to the tiled floor. Their feet were just as close as their bodies, one pair in wool socks, the other in combat boots.

Steve had seen attractive men before. He used to work alongside a few. He appreciated beauty in people, regardless of their gender. But those feelings had to be set aside for... well, for many things. Such as: war, being frozen for 70 years, aliens invading Manhattan, an international terrorist conspiracy that featured his best friend, evil robots, and an escalating moral disagreement that resulted in an irreparable rift between him and an entire community of heroes. As Sam Wilson liked to say, the bullshit just kept piling up. There was no time for romance, let alone a life, with the mounting burdens that came with being an Avenger.

Staring into the beguiling face of a handsome man, in an isolated cottage in the middle of the Canadian wilderness, Steve couldn't help but wonder. Was it time to finally to take all those feelings out of hiding?

"Stay the night," Elias said.

"I... I'm sorry?"

"The storm. I don't think it's going to stop any time soon and the sunshed isn't weatherproof. You've got your choice of three guest bedrooms, so there's definitely space here."

"That's really nice of you. But I don't want to intrude."

"Dude, intrude to your heart's content. Don't tell me the Super Soldier serum destroyed your ability to accept an invitation. It's bad luck to refuse a bed when it's raining."

"Is it?"

"No, I made that up. But it sounds like it should be true."

The thought of spending the night indoors was certainly more appealing than roughing it outside in the terrible weather.

"Alright. I'll... stay tonight." He hoped he didn't sound too eager, he didn't want Elias getting the wrong idea. Whatever that idea was...

"Really? Awesome." Elias' expression lit up in a way that made Steve want to wrap his arms around him.

 _Control yourself, Rogers_.

"I'll show you the guest rooms and you can take your pick. Or should we do dinner first? I'm trying to remember if I have anything for dessert. Your cookies got wrecked in the storm but I could just bake another batch. Did I tell you I'm a surprisingly good baker?"

Steve almost laughed. The enthusiasm was heartening. "Let's go one step at a time. I'll help with dinner and you bake. Then we'll figure out rooms. Deal?"

"It's a deal, soldier."

They shook hands. The contact was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. Elias' hand was so soft it embarrassed Steve to be touching him with such a rough, calloused palm. But he couldn't lose his composure. He was a guest, and a gentleman, and he'd treat Elias accordingly.

Oh, boy. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
